


The Penitent Man

by littlehollyleaf



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (maybe?) - Freeform, Gen, Humor, Pre-Slash, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-21
Updated: 2010-04-21
Packaged: 2018-09-13 19:56:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9139996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlehollyleaf/pseuds/littlehollyleaf
Summary: Castiel's fight with the angels guarding Adam knocks him out for a few days. What he learns about Dean when he revives is surprising and, considering what the hunter put him through prior to the fight, not as instantly joyous as you might expect.





	

**The Penitent Man**

 

Castiel wakes with a gasp, chest heaving.

There's dank, dark metal all around him, close and confining. And yet, the air is cool against his skin. Refreshing. It eases the burn of the mark still seared on his chest and Castiel can't understand it, because surely Hell is hotter than this. He remembers fire and blood and screaming. Not relief. Not blissful silence.

Almost silence.

"How you feeling?"

Castiel turns his head at the words, that achingly familiar voice, and -

This isn't right. It can't be.

He recognises the walls now. He's in Bobby Singer's house, the warded room in the basement, and he's resting on the same cot Sam Winchester had once been strapped to. The same one he'd helped cuff Dean into so recently.

The same Dean Winchester who is perched on a stool less than five feet away, watching him in concern.

Castiel knows it's Dean, not only because of the lack of angelic power and grace, but because Michael would never look at him like that. Back in Heaven he'd have viewed Castiel with indifference, at best. Now, it would be more like disgust. Certainly not the soft, anxious expression Castiel sees on the face of the man before him, the skin between his washed out green eyes lightly creased, hands clasped together across his knees, body hunched over.

Yes, Castiel knows it's Dean. But he asks anyway.

"Dean?"

Because it can't be. Dean Winchester gave up. He betrayed Castiel, and Sam, and Bobby, and everyone. He went back on everything he'd taught the angel to believe in and the last he'd seen of the hunter he'd planned to surrender. _Had_ surrendered as far as Castiel was concerned, crackling heat flushing through him as he remembers how the man he'd fought and died for, whose strength and defiance had seemed boundless, had _begged_ to be broken, had lay bleeding at his feet and willed the beating on. All resistance, all fire, all purpose gone.

Castiel remembers anger, _hatred_ , and for a moment his whole being thrums with it. Then there's nothing but empty sorrow and pity.

"Yeah, it's me," Dean answers.

Something must have gone wrong, Castiel thinks, shaking his head. Perhaps there were other angels guarding the room he hadn't known about, perhaps the brothers didn't make it in time...

"Adam?"

Dean shrugs.

"Looks like he was just a decoy," he answers. "Michael wasn't trying to jump him when Sam and I got in and Zach didn't wait around, he moved straight to the torture. Tried to use Sam _and_ the kid against me."

Knots form in Castiel's brow. He can feel them stacking up, and while the sensation is far from a novelty these days, it is, as always, unpleasant.

"I don't understand." Because if Dean made it face to face with Zachariah, vocal cords intact, how is it that Dean can be here and talking now? "Zachariah... let you go?" he hazards, at a loss for another explanation.

"Zachariah's dead," Dean answers, voice firm and hard and something else - something sharp and bright. It's been so long since Castiel heard it in Dean's voice it takes him a moment to recognise the hunter's arrogant and once infuriatingly insistent pride.

Castiel just stares for a long moment, finding the fitting together of these conflicting pieces of information an almost impossible effort.

Dean waits patiently.

Zachariah is dead. At Dean's hand from the sound of it. But if Dean had entered the room to take Adam's place and surrender to Michael, why would he kill Zachariah? Adam had been tortured, Dean said, so the youngest Winchester had clearly been discarded as a choice for the archangel, giving Dean exactly the opportunity he needed to voice his consent. And yet here he was, wholly himself, maybe even _more_ himself than he had been in a long time, which could only mean -

Castiel's eyes widen with understanding, then darken to a shocked and bitter navy.

"You didn't," he says.

The statement doesn't need clarifying, just a nod from Dean to confirm it.

"No, I didn't," he answers. "We've been trying to call you. Took us the better part of the week to track you down. Turns out some cops found you and your angel pals cut up several states over. Well, the others' vessels anyway. You really laid into them, huh? Local PD had you on lock down at the hospital. You were the only body alive so they figured you for the killer, which... kinda the truth if you think about it. Took some doing to get you out, and what with Sam trying to suss what happened to Adam after he got left behind too it was pretty -"

It's not that Castiel doesn't find Dean's explanation important. It's just that the casual way he's giving it _grates_.

How can the hunter _possibly_ act like the last few weeks never happened when Castiel almost threw his life away over them? Had been perfectly ready to. In fact, truth be told, he's not sure how he _did_ manage to defeat the four brothers and sisters he'd transported with - deliberately transported with that is, because he'd made the decision long before he etched out the symbol that he'd rather take his chances outmatched in a battle, however pointless, than take that step with Sam into the room it had been all but certain their hopes would end in. Where he'd have to watch his first true friend, the one solid force left in his life, turn away and abandon him. Like his family.

Like his father.

He has Dean off his chair and against the wall in a matter of seconds, only vaguely aware of the bandages tightening across his open chest, the way the cold of the stone floor bites into the exposed soles of his feet, loose and unfamiliar denim threads tickling his toes.

"You son of a bitch," he hisses. "After everything I've done for you, the _sacrifices_ I've made, you think you can just _play_ me like some toy?"

Dean's pulse is racing. Castiel can feel it against his fingers where they brush the hunter's neck, gripping tight around Dean's jacket collar. But Dean doesn't struggle and he doesn't look away.

"You want another round, Cas, go ahead," he gasps, winded by the throw. "You're right, I deserve it."

Time seems to jar briefly as an image of the last time they were like this plays before Castiel's eyes - aging brick crumbling over Dean's shoulders as the angel slams his fist into the hunter's jaw, backhands him and kicks him away.

Dean's left cheek is spotted purple where a wound is still healing.

Castiel clenches his fists, tightening the fabric round Dean's neck until the hunter struggles to breathe, each attempt a rasp. He _wants_ to, father in Heaven, he wants so badly to lash out like before, to make Dean suffer like _he_ suffered, make him hurt like _he_ hurt.

But...

But he is _Dean_. And he has defied Heaven and said 'no' to Michael, like he always promised to, like Sam said he would. So Castiel finds his anger slowly melting, as it did before. Only while before it was into resignation, the knowledge that there was nothing he could do to save a man who didn't want to be saved, now it is into tentative respect, the facing up to a different truth altogether.

His hold eases off and he steps back.

"No..." he starts, suddenly uncertain. "You didn't do it. Sam was right." He looks Dean up and down as the hunter rubs his neck and gulps vital oxygen back into his lungs - the same faded, tattered clothing he'd worn when _Castiel_ had been the one to face him in the Green Room, so long ago; the same fire and veiled understanding in his eyes when he met Castiel's gaze back then and promised there was more to life than the lot of a soldier; the same Dean. Not lost at all. "I... I misjudged you."

Dean's lips quirk in a wry smile.

"Nah, Cas." He shakes his head. "You got me exactly right. I was done fighting. I was gonna say it, I was ready." He looks away, sucking in his lower lip and scraping it with his teeth. "I just... I dunno. I changed my mind..." He turns back, gaze fixing into the angel's without fear or trepidation. A sureness and certainty Castiel had feared gone from the hunter's eyes forever. "You're right to be pissed. Were then, are now. So I mean, if you wanna have at it again, I won't blame you."

Dean's whole body tenses, hands curling into fists as he waits for the coming blow. He's just as acceptant as last time, but not pliant, not seeking destruction in the hope it will overpower him. This time he plans to resist. This time he is courting the pain because he intends to conquer it.

And for a second Castiel wants to give it to him. But not for the reasons Dean thinks.

Castiel's desire is not for revenge, it is a want for nothing more than to see Dean's perfect skin broken again, crimson blood contrasting with fleshy pink. He wants to see Dean growl and bare his teeth, wants to hear him cry out and trash and kick like an animal, and most of all - most of all Castiel wants to feel Dean struggle against him, to feel his fight.

It's a desire so strong it almost consumes him, like his rage had in that alley. Enough that Dean must see it because the hunter sucks in a quick breath, tongue darting out to wet his lips. The act spikes the desire inside Castiel in a way he doesn't understand and the strength of it scares him, enough to make him back down.

"Sam knew you would not go through with it," he says. "He knows you better, I should have trusted him. But I..." Those creases stack up again as Castiel realises something. "I let my emotion get the better of me..." His eyes trail again over the bruise on Dean's cheek and he recognises another emotion in himself he has not been consciously aware of until now. Regret. His hand reaches out on impulse, but he stops when Dean flinches. "I'm sorry," he mutters, gaze dropping.

He's not sure what he expects from the confession, but it isn't for Dean to relax and breathe out a laugh. Or for the hunter to slap him gently on the shoulder.

"Don't sweat it," Dean smiles. "Hell, it's not family if you don't beat on each other at least once."

Castiel blinks.

"Is that what I am?" he asks, head jerking up, surprised how _good_ the idea seems. How different from his previous experience. "Family?"

Dean breaks away from the look, bites his lip and steps past Castiel into the centre of the room. His smile isn't lost though, just flattened slightly, making the move not evasive, more... embarrassed.

"You were part of the deal I was gonna cut, you know that right?" he says, still facing away.

Castiel turns to look at him and, after a moment, Dean turns back too. His lips are curved again but they don't quite match his eyes anymore - an attempt to lighten a moment that is growing sombre.

"A one way ticket back to Heaven, no questions asked," he explains. "I wouldn't take anything less."

Despite the cold of the room and his lack of clothing, Castiel suddenly feels warm. He'd thought about it, yes, but he hadn't dared hope. Hadn't wanted to. Yet, to hear Dean admit that Castiel's well-being had been a priority is... gratifying.

It's also wrong though, because -

"That's not..." Castiel pauses, trying to order these newly understood and growing emotions into words. "That's not what matters to me."

Dean pauses too, skin flushing.

"Um..." he mutters, looking away again and rubbing a hand down the back of his neck. More embarrassment. "Look, Cas, listen. Err... Sam's already had his. Bobby too. And now you're awake it means you're due, so..." He drops his arm and takes a breath, making a loose fist with one hand and slapping it against his other palm. "I'm sorry, okay?" he says in a rush. "I'm sorry for screwing you around. I'm sorry for everything." He looks up again, eyes wide. It makes the green brighter - a beacon in the surrounding gloom. "I mean, shit. Bobby and Sam, they've known me all my life, they know what kind of crap to expect. But you... I'm the one who dragged you into this, I pulled you down here, and then I was just gonna pack it all in? Fuck, I'm lucky you even left me functioning! So just... I'm sorry, man."

Castiel nods.

"Accepted," he says.

Dean lifts his eyebrows and leans forward a little, as if waiting for something.

"That's it?"

Castiel tilts his head, confused.

"Should there be more?"

"No," Dean answers quickly, raising his hands, palms forward. "Nooo, that's cool." He sucks in his lips, thinking. "It's just... you know, Bobby gave me a verbal smackdown that lasted over an hour and I'm pretty sure I'm on washing up duty, car fixing duty, house cleaning duty, and every other possible duty for the rest of my life. Plus Sam did the hurt puppy thing for a while, you know? This seems... pretty easy in comparison."

Dean's tone is light, like he's joking. But Castiel remembers him spitting out blood and screaming - _Do it! Just do it!_ He remembers Dean newly out of Hell and refusing to accept the good fortune. He hears the slight catch to the words, the whisper of disappointment in Dean's mind, and he thinks he understands.

Forgiveness is not a relief for this man - he desires castigation, deserved or not.

It's a trait Castiel wants to think Dean learnt in Hell, where punishment and torture are all there is - but it seems more than likely Dean has been fostering this need since long before his time in the Pit.

So Castiel steps forward. He still doesn't fully understand the human preoccupation with 'personal space,' but he knows a lack of respect for the concept makes Dean uncomfortable. Which is why he positions himself inches from the hunter, placing them almost nose-to-nose, enough to make Dean lift his arms uncertainly.

Despite the move, Dean does not back away, and Castiel can feel the heat emanating from the man's hovering palms. He can feel Dean's breath puff against his neck as he leans in, lips at the hunter's ear.

"I have no desire to hurt you, Dean," he mutters, letting the heat of his own breath swirl round the other's skin. Then, just as Dean starts to relax again, more remorse bubbling under the surface, Castiel adds, " _Now_."

It's not a threat so much as a promise.

Because Castiel is proud of Dean today. Against all expectations - all save his brother's - he stood his ground, even taking Zachariah down in the process, which must have been something to see. So no, Dean's anxiety is misplaced - he deserves his forgiveness today.

What lies between them is an unspoken 'but next time...'

Castiel holds until he's sure Dean registers it, until he hears Dean's heartbeat pick up again, tastes the rush of adrenalin, of excitement.

Then he turns and takes in the rest of the room for the first time, dismissing Dean and what has past between them for larger concerns.

He sees his clothes piled neatly on the floor at the cot's head, Jimmy's trench coat resting on top. They are ragged and stained in places, although someone has clearly tried their best to wash them. Castiel suspects Sam in this instance - he has witnessed Dean's cleaning skills and found them wanting. The thought that both of the brothers, perhaps even Bobby Singer as well, have joined forces for his care sparks a new layer of warmth inside him.

A quick touch to his bandages determines them no longer necessary - his powers may be diminished, but he is not yet beyond healing himself given time. Or fixing broken threads.

All the clothes need is a look and they are whole again and once more coating Jimmy's skin. Castiel smoothes down the collar and tie with what he assumes humans might term satisfaction. Not that what he wears has ever mattered to the angel, it's just, finding the clothing he has grown so accustomed the last two years suddenly absent, he finds he feels... how had Dean termed it? Naked, without the outfit. In more than the literal sense of the word.

And now there is work to do. He must learn what happened to Adam, what Sam has uncovered about it and perhaps how he can help retrieve the child. He should also return to where he faced off against his siblings to try and determine how he survived the onslaught - considering how unmatched he remembers feeling it would not surprise him if a third party was involved, and if so he must learn who and how and, more importantly, where their allegiance lies.

Dean coughs behind him, holding Castiel back.

"Cas... I..." he starts, hesitant. "I'm really glad you're okay."

Castiel shoots a small smile to the open door. He knows how hard it is for Dean to admit such things, so he takes the words for the gift they are.

The following not so much.

"Seriously, I can't tell you how much I've missed your charm and your winning sense of humour. Dunno how we've coped."

Sarcasm. Followed by a smirk.

Dean is teasing - masking his affection with humour because he is afraid of it.

Not long ago this was a tactic Castiel would have scoffed at, not seeing the point. But now... now the idea of covering one emotion with another seems more understandable. Reasonable even.

He narrows his eyes as he turns, remembering one of the put downs Dean had used on him before. It seems appropriate.

"Blow me, Dean," he says, before willing himself upstairs, leaving Dean shocked and smiling behind him.

 

 

~ **fin** ~


End file.
